


Fistful of Fireflies

by Doctor_WTF



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gen, Nervous!Sherlock, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Parentlock, Tumblr Prompt, featuring possible autism spectrum Sherlock on occasion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-08
Updated: 2014-03-18
Packaged: 2018-01-14 23:59:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1283596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doctor_WTF/pseuds/Doctor_WTF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of my prompts from tumblr. Posted in one place in hopes it shall spawn more prompts! Blatant Sherlolly through and through.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bathtime!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyCorvidae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyCorvidae/gifts), [fanficology](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanficology/gifts), [KendraPendragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KendraPendragon/gifts).



> Based on a prompt by the lovely and wonderful pvivax who said: Giving reluctant child/dog/owl/whatever a bath!
> 
> Blatantly decided to use LadyCorvidae and I's RP character of Evelyn Holmes as the child as she would be naughty enough to try and defeat bathtime. Enjoy!

It had started out so peacefully. He had kissed Molly goodbye, wishing her safe travels as she went to her conference, and assuring her that he could take care of the weary little girl in his arms for one night. Neither Molly or Evelyn had shared his confidence though and now he knew why. While dinner had gone smoothly and plopping the toddler down in front of the telly for a recorded educational program had kept her quiet while he had gone through his e-mail, he’d ruined their peaceful evening with a single word. “Bathtime!”

Instantly Evelyn had tried to make a break for it, he’d managed to grab her before she exited the room, and as he’d lifted her into his arms she’d begun to bawl. “No Daddy! Please Daddy! I don’t wanna! Don’t Daddy! NOOOOOO!” she wailed, flailing as she tried to get free. Her pleas and piteous cries were enough to make him feel like a pedophile rather than a parent.

Yet he’d gotten her into the bathroom and gotten the water running when the real chaos began. “What toys would you like today?” he asked, parroting the words he heard so often coming from Molly’s lips.

Evelyn looked up at him, pouting and serious. “Owl.”

“Your owl?” he repeated, brow furrowing. The owl had been a gift from Mycroft on the occasion of her birth and his daughter carried it everywhere. To her creche, to bed, to dinner, to Uncle John’s. It was rarely out of her grip. However, the toy was stuffed and putting it in the bath would surely ruin it. “I’m afraid you shall not be able to take your owl into the bath. What is your second choice?”

Evelyn sniffled loudly, tears pooling in the corner of her eyes. “Gladswon,” she sniffled.

Sherlock’s lip twitched. Gladstone was the Watson’s dog, also a poor choice for bath companion. “How about this yellow duck shaped creation,” Sherlock said, lifting up the plastic thing and squeezing it. “You like how it squeaks, don’t you?”

Evelyn looked at the rubber duckie then at her father, then back at the bird. “NOOOOOOO!!!!” she screamed at the top of her lungs.

It was all a mask of horror after that full of splashing, shrieking, tears, and a chase that nearly ended in him losing his naked child on the streets of London. In the aftermath, exhausted beyond words, he collapsed into his bed and ran a hand through his matted, tangled hair. On the end table his mobile rumbled with a new text.

_Made it safely to Cardiff. How did bathtime with Evey go? - Molly XOXOXO_

Sherlock looked to the toddler, curled up and sleeping peacefully on her mother’s side of the bed, her owl held tightly in her small pudgy arms.

_**Good. In unrelated news, you’re never allowed to go to an overnight conference again. -SH** _

He sighed deeply, reaching over to turn off the light.

_**XO. -SH** _


	2. First Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from kendrapendragon who said: Going on their first date and Molly is totally relaxed while Sherlock is a total mess

His palms were sweating. Why the devil were his palms sweating? Dry mouth, a tremor in his limbs, and he had an increased heart rate as well. Obviously he was coming down with something.

John however rolled his eyes when the consulting detective said as much and he heard Mary snort loudly in the hall. It wasn’t a particularly attractive noise. He thought about telling her as much, but he was having difficulty breathing and had to have a bit of a sit. Sighing, John came to sit down next to him, rubbing his back gently as he handed Sherlock a tie.

“Come on now, it’s alright,” the army doctor said soothingly. “You faced down Moriarty and won. This can’t be any more difficult.”

“This is infinitely more difficult John!” he snapped, grabbing the tie from his hands. He fumbled with it awkwardly, trying to get it around his throat. “Moriarty was only trying to kill me while this is… This could be…”

He was unable to say the words. Tonight would either be the start of something wonderful that would come to define his entire life, or it would permanently sever one of the friendships he’d come to rely on the most. Groaning, he buried his face in his hands. “I should have just left it alone,” he muttered, on the edge of hyperventilating. “Everything was fine the way it was before. This is going to change everything. What if I ruin it? What if she never wants to speak to me again? What if, after tonight, she moves away to America just to get away from me?”

“She’s here!” Mary said cheerfully from the hall.

Sherlock froze, swallowing hard before leaping to his feet. Fumbling with the tie some more he growled and shoved it into John’s hands. “ _Help me!_ ”

Trying not to laugh, John tied the tie for him before placing his hands on Sherlock’s shoulders. “You’ll do fine. You’ve got to remember that Molly likes you for who you are and she already knows that you’re a massive git.”

He glared at his so-called ‘best friend.’ “Not. Helping.”

Taking a deep breath he collected himself and turned towards the door. Pausing to wipe his hands on a handkerchief, Sherlock strode out of the room. “Ah, Molly. You’re here then.”

Smiling, Molly looked over to him from where she’d been chatting with Mary. Instantly her smile faltered and she bit her bottom lip and he felt his heart race in panic. What had he done wrong already? “Oh, hi Sherlock. You look very nice. Was I… Was I supposed to dress up as well? I thought we were just going to a coffee shop so you could scope out the place.”

Ignoring the way Mary grinned or John’s disbelieving laugh behind him, Sherlock smiled at her broadly. “No, no you look fine. Better than fine really. Quite nice as well. Perfectly suitable. Charming, really.”

Molly looked down at her usual lab clothes and frumpy sweater, looking puzzled. “Thank you?”

“Right then,” he said, darting forward and taking up the coat she’d only recently discarded. “Shall we be off then? For coffee? Together?”

“Sure,” she said, allowing him to help her on with the coat. “Are you two coming too?” she asked, looking to Mary and John.

“No,” Sherlock said quickly, answering for them. “They’re… busy. With sex, I mean, baby things.” He flushed hotly. “Shall we then?”

Waving, Mary and John grinned as they watched Sherlock take Molly’s arm and escort her from the flat. “Oh, I feel like a Mum sending her boy off to his first fancy dress party with a girl,” Mary said, squeezing John’s arm tightly. “Do you think they’re going to have a good first date?”

“A spectacular one,” John said, grinning so hard it nearly hurt. “I just wonder how long it’s going to take Molly to realize that Sherlock’s asked her out considering she thinks it’s just a case!”


	3. Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A prompt from milkforthesouffles who wanted a sequel to the nervous first date prompt!

They’d been dating for a year and had known each other for so much longer. So when the case he’d been on to retrieve a valise of diamonds ended with the gems returned and a jeweler owing him a rather large favor he decided to take the opportunity and run with it.

The ring was platinum, a channel set eternity band of alternating diamonds and brilliant blue sapphires to remind her of his eyes. It was perfect for her. The channel setting would enable her to wear the ring under her gloves (unlike the other ring she’d received from DELETED) but still sparkly and large enough to show off. He’d seen the way women looked at each other’s engagement rings and judged, he’d even caught Mary doing such, and he couldn't give Molly an unenviable ring.

Bringing it home from the jewelers he had placed it on the mantle under Billy the Skull and there it waited for the most difficult part of the plan. Actually asking Molly to marry him.

He considered his options carefully. According to the internet, areas in which special shared experiences were held was considered a good choice. He’d first met Molly in the lab at Barts when she was wrist deep in a corpse. He could put the ring in a corpse and be there when Molly retrieved it. Romantic, but perhaps not the best choice. Molly could be self conscious with discussing her work with strangers and the tale of how the engagement occurred was nearly as important as the ring.

The location of their first date? That was an independent non-chain coffee shop. Quite nice, but the location where Mrs. Hudson bought her marijuana so probably not the best place.

He could take her to a fancy dinner. That was boring though.

At the park? What excuse would he use to draw her out there though?

Frowning, he pulled out his mobile to text John and research ideas when he heard a tread on the stairs. Mrs. Hudson coming up to dust surely. “Don’t touch my skull,” he called out, searching through the options. Boring. Boring. Dull. Too touristy. Hopefully John had some better ideas.

“What are you working on today?” a cheerful female voice asked and he answered without thinking.

“Attempting to determine the correct location to ask Molly Hooper to marry me.”

There was a loud crash and he looked up to see Molly staring at him, her jaw slack. The cooler she’d been carrying lay at her feet, a liver oozing blood over the hardwood floors. That didn’t matter though. His heart pounded and his mind raced as he’d took in her flabbergasted expression. This was more than a bit not good considering Molly looked about ready to faint or perhaps slap him again.

“M-marry?” she stammered, eyes wide. “Why would you a-ask me to ma-ma-marry you?”

He leapt to his feet, casting the phone aside. “I, well, I suppose,” he said, mouth moving and saying things in an attempt to give his brain more time to think. “I do believe it’s expected.”

"Expected?” Molly asked, eyes starting to narrow. He swallowed hard as suspicion started to fill her features. “Why would I or anyone else expect you to marry me?”

“Well it’s the natural progression of things considering we’ve been dating a year.”

If anything, Molly looked more surprised than before. “We’ve been what!?”

“Dating. For a year.” At Molly’s flabbergasted look he scowled. “Honestly, Molly. We go out once a week, sometimes more. What did you think we were doing?”

“I thought we were investigating cases! Considering you always invited me out by saying ‘Molly, I have a case for you,’ I didn’t think that was an unreasonable assumption!”

He blinked, shoving his hands into his pockets. This wasn't going well. Not at all. From the anger that was slowly forming on Molly’s face he knew this wasn’t going well in the slightest. “Well they weren't always cases. Why else do you think I took you dancing?”

“You said it was for a-” Molly stopped, reaching up and pinching her brow. “So, let me get this straight. For the past year, you’ve considered us to be dating. That’s why you’ve been at the lab so much more bringing me lunch and coffee and inviting me on cases and to Baker Street?”

He nodded.

She considered this for a moment. “So how many dates have you and John been on then?”

Scowling at her, he turned away and seized up his violin. “What I do with John is not ‘dates.’ I have no intention of forming a romantic relationship with John.”

“But we don’t even have a romantic relationship! We’ve never had sex. We’ve never even kissed!”

He stiffened, unable to meet her eyes as he plucked at the strings of his violin. “I didn’t… I thought…” He took a deep breath. “I thought it would be alright to wait after we were married. People still do that.” The fact of the matter was that sex with Molly terrified him. One fumbling encounter with The Woman that had barely lasted a minute and left her unsatisfied and smirking was hardly a promising sexual experience. If Molly was married to him she’d have to give him a chance to learn what she liked before kicking him to the kerb.

Molly’s expression softened at the vulnerability on his face and she offered him a sweet smile. “You want to hold off kissing until we’re married?”

“No, I have no issue on embarking on that now,” he said, eyes still on the floor. He looked up at her, biting his lip. There had to be a way to salvage this. “I have a ring for you. Would you like to see it?”

Molly hesitated then nodded and he set the violin down. Lifting Billy he removed the small velvet box and moved to hand it to her but she stepped away, putting her hands behind her back. “You’re, ah, you’re supposed to be the one to open it,” she said, a slight blush on her cheeks.

He frowned. Odd, but if that was what she wanted. Moving to open the box she stopped him again. “On one knee. You’re supposed to be on one knee when you open it.”

He blinked at her but did as she said. Kneeling on one knee he opened the box, showing her the ring. At the sight of it, Molly’s face lit up and she gasped. “Oh Sherlock, it’s beautiful!” she said, biting her bottom lip. Her eyes went to him and she gazed at him expectantly.

The moment went on for too long and he frowned wondering what he was supposed to do. Close the box? Give it to her? He hadn’t managed to research this far yet. “What?” he snapped instead, hating the patient look on her face.

“You’re supposed to ask me, Sherlock.”

“Ask you what? You already know the reason I obtained this ring and the expectations I have for your acceptance of it.”

Molly rolled her eyes. “Sherlock, you’re still supposed to ask!”

He sighed, looking away. Feeling more than a little bit foolish and rather hurt, it wasn’t fair for Molly to make him do this when he’d obviously failed at the previous stages of their courtship and her answer would be not to his liking. “Molly Hooper. I have gotten this ring in the hopes that it shall convince you to enter the financial and legal bonds of marriage with me. Are you interested in embarking on such an endeavor with me?”

Molly gazed at him, giggling slightly, before launching herself at him. For a moment, as he crashed to the floor with her atop him, he thought she was attacking him. Had his proposal really been that bad? But her lips were pressed tightly against his, and her small hands were holding him tight and this wasn’t nearly as bad as he expected it to be.

After several minutes and a vigorous snogging, Molly pulled away completely out of breath. Grinning down at him she reached out and grabbed the dropped ring box, sliding the engagement band onto her finger. “Was that the answer you were looking for?” she asked, threading her hands through his hair.

Smiling up at her, heart light, he nodded. “Yes.”


	4. Lonely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from an Anonny who said: Molly is just as lonely as Sherlock. No one invited her to an office party right above her lab. Sherlock sees that they're not so different.

Molly sniffled slightly, reminding herself that she had no reason to cry. She had paperwork to do, bodies to process, and samples to run. There wasn’t enough time for her to take a proper lunch break much less attend a silly party! She didn’t even like parties anyway. While everyone else would have been chatting and having fun at Wilfred’s retirement party, she would have just stood in the corner sipping punch and feeling awkward.

Tears swam in her vision. But they hadn’t even invited her…

The morgue doors burst open and she jumped a little, looking up. The hope that someone had remembered her and had come down to invite her upstairs died as she took in the familiar Belstaff and curly hair. “Oh. Hullo Sherlock,” she said, smiling at him weakly. “I’m afraid I don’t have much for you today. I’ve only got natural deaths in stock and none of them have release forms for experimentation.”

Sherlock scowled at the news but went to his usual microscope anyway. “How dull. I expected more from the citizens of London,” he murmured, plugging the machine in. “Luckily, I had the foresight to bring samples.”

Nodding, Molly went back to her paperwork. Sherlock being present was the ultimate deterrent to crying. At best he’d ignore her tears and at worst he’d insult her. He didn’t seem to process emotion the same way she did and she didn’t-

Her train of thought derailed as she realized Sherlock had said something. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. What was that?”

Scowling at having to repeat himself, Sherlock sighed deeply. “I said that I didn’t expect you to be here. I would have thought you would have been at the party upstairs.”

She frowned, looking away. Tears threatened again and she took a deep breath to hold them at bay. “I wasn’t invited,” she said quietly.

There was silence as she continued with her paperwork but she had the feeling eyes were on her. Looking up she met Sherlock’s puzzled gaze. “Why not?” he asked.

“Why wasn’t I invited?” she asked. Sherlock nodded once and she sighed. This really wasn’t a topic she wanted to speak with Sherlock about. Knowing that he’d instantly detect a lie she steeled herself and went for the truth. “They might have forgotten about me, but they probably just didn’t want me to come.”

Sherlock stared at her, brow furrowing. “Why wouldn’t they have wanted to you come?” he asked, confusion in his voice. “You’re… personable. You were perfectly decent at John’s Christmas party.”

Wincing, Molly forced a smile. Oh yes. The disastrous Christmas Eve. She would really rather have forgotten that night altogether. “You know how it is,” she said, voice soft. “People ask you about work and life and, well, I don’t have much of a life outside work and my work is with the dead. Not many people like hearing about all the strange and unusual rashes and birthmarks I see coming through my door. So you see, I’m just not all that good with people.”

Lips pursing, Sherlock nodded. “Ah,” he said and went back to his microscope.

The discussion obviously closed, Molly went back to work herself. Two hours later, just as her shift was ending, Sherlock stood. Gathering up his samples, he placed them back in the case he had brought, tidied up his workstation, and moved to leave. “Good evening, Molly.”

“Night Sherlock.”

There was silence, but not the sound of the doors closing. Looking up, Molly saw Sherlock still by the door, an unreadable expression on his face. “I am also not particularly good with people,” he said, voice halting as his gaze darted everywhere around the room except for on her. “Nor do I particularly care to be. However… If you would enjoy the chance to have a discussion with someone about the rashes and birthmarks you’ve seen I would not be averse to hearing about them.” His tongue darted out, licking his lips. “Pictures, if you have them, would also be appreciated.”

With that he turned and swept out, her gaze following him. The slightest of smiles crossed her lips and Molly began to hum as she shut down the equipment for the night.


	5. ParentLock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A prompt from winterda who said: Sherlock decides to use Molly and Baby Watson as his fake family cover for a case.

“No Sherlock.”

“Well why not?” his former flatmate demanded, looking very put out. “It’s not like she’s going to come into any harm.”

“No Sherlock.”

“An answer besides just ‘no’ would be helpful.”

“Just… Just… No. _No Sherlock._ Not a chance.”

“Actually, it’s not a bad idea,” Mary murmured, looking far too amused. He glared at his wife as if she were a traitor and she winced, but continued to smile at him. “We’ve been able to trust Sherlock before and it’s not like it would be for long.”

“It’s a week. He’ll have her for a week.”

“It would be like a holiday! Or how life was before we had children.”

John looked between the two of them, his wife and his best friend, and threw his hands up in the air. “Have you both gone mad!?”

Mary laughed. “John, it’s not like she’d be in any danger or alone. Sherlock’ll have Molly with him.”

“Yes, Molly, about that,” John growled, glaring at Sherlock. “Why do you have to have Molly along? If you have to have a woman, why can’t it be Mary? She’s the trained ex-assassin after all.”

“Oh yes, splendid idea. Creating a false family with the woman best known as my partner’s _wife_ ,” Sherlock drawled sarcastically. “No, Molly is the far more logical choice. She’s relatively unknown to the press so once you tell your blog that I’ve fathered an illegitimate child with her they’ll accept the story as truth.”

“That’s insane.”

“Fine. She can be a single mother whom I have decided to begin dating. Though I don’t see why my fathering a child could be classified as ‘insane.’”

“No,” John muttered, shaking his head. “You’re mental. Both of you. You’ve gone completely bonkers.”

“It’s not like she’ll ever be in any danger John,” Sherlock said soothingly. “As I said before, I predict the case will only take a week.”

“Oh that’s just fine then!” he roared. “You’ll only take my infant daughter into a potentially hazardous situation for _**a week!**_ If she’s alive and unharmed by the end, she’ll be returned to us. Sounds great. _Let me pack you a bloody nappy bag_.”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed as he gazed at him. “Was that sarcasm or-?”

**_“Of course it was bloody sarcasm!!”_ **

“John, John,” Mary said, standing and putting her hand on his arm. She smiled at him sweetly, cooling him down. “It’ll be fine. It shall all be fine. Sherlock’s responsible… _ish._ We’ve trusted him with Abigale overnight and I’m certain he’ll keep her well protected during the case.”

“How can you possibly know that when he won’t even tell us what the case is about!?” John demanded.

Mary continued to smile at him, leaning over and gently kissing him. “Because he’s your best friend and I trust him,” she whispered. “Now, let me go pack some of Abby’s things and we’ll get you sorted, Sherlock.”

His (possibly former) best friend beamed and then cleared his throat. “You’ll also have to leave London for the week. Due to the case.” He reached into his pocket and removed a pair of tickets. “I’ve taken the liberty of booking you two a week’s vacation in the French countryside. I got you a lovely cottage there. The rental agency told me that it’s surrounded by lavender.”

John counted to ten, trying to talk himself out of decking his friend while Mary took the tickets and cooed over them appreciatively. “Oooh lovely. Sounds like a regular second honeymoon. Won’t that be lovely, John?”

He didn’t answer. He was too busy imagining what Sherlock would look like with his hands around his neck.

Mary put together a baby bag full of nappies and clothes as well as a shopping bag full of her food. Reminding him again of Abigale’s nap schedule and feeding routine she beamed as Sherlock put the infant into the chest carrier before heading towards the door. “Bye Abby! Have fun with Uncle Sherlock!”

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” John muttered, voice hollow and face grey. “You’ve both gone mental. Why are we doing this?”

“Oh hush you,” Mary giggled. “It’s almost rather sweet actually.”

“ ** _Sweet!?_** How you think that it’s-“

She elbowed him hard in the ribs and he silenced, managing to hear Sherlock as he walked down the hall towards their building’s lift. “Ah Molly,” he heard him say. “Could you perhaps come to Baker Street after your shift is over? You may wish to bring an overnight bag. I’m afraid John and Mary have put me in quite a position and I may need your help. You see, they’ve decided to take a week long holiday in France and have left me with-“

The other man’s words faded away as the lift arrived and spirited him away. John turned to his wife, slack jawed. “He didn’t.”

“He did.”

“He isn’t.”

“He is!”

“But-“ He shook his head in disbelief. “He said it was for a case!”

“Of course it’s a case!” Mary grinned at him. “ _The Mystery of How to Win a Pathologist’s Heart!_ Really, conning her to help him babysit is adorable, but he could have just asked Molly out for coffee. So much easier, but I suppose we wouldn’t have gotten our trip to France now would we?”

John stared at her blankly. “It’s official,” he sighed. “I’m surrounded by madness.”


	6. The Wallpaper Conspiracy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A nonny prompted: WALLPAPER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“Here comes the airplane! Whoooosh! Whooosh!” Mary cooed to the baby in the high chair. Abigail stared back looking decidedly unimpressed. Whether it was her mother’s poor impression of vehicular aircraft or the mushy peas on the spoon, the infant’s mouth was shut and she wasn’t about to open it. “Come on, love. Open up for Mummy!” she cajoled, but Abigail turned her head as her small eyes narrowed.

The standoff was broken by the front door slamming open and two pairs of feet marching in. “No, Sherlock! You have to understand that this time you’ve really gone too far. I can’t even believe you said that, I was in the bloody lab when you did it!”

Play gasping, Mary beamed at the baby. “Oh, sounds like Daddy and Uncle Sherlock are home! Isn’t that nice?” she cooed, quickly wiping the baby’s face and lifting her from her chair. Abigail's face split into a grin and she began to wobble in Mary’s arms as she heard the sound of Sherlock’s voice. The girl did adore her Uncle ‘Lock so.

“Hullo Sherlock!” she smiled, coming into the room. Abigail let out a little happy cry, reaching for her Uncle and Sherlock took her instantly, cuddling her to his chest as Mary hovered with the jar of baby food and the spoon. “I don’t suppose you could feed her, could you? She does love it when you do.”

“Don’t distract him!” John said, voice cross. He folded his arms, glaring at his best friend. “We need to talk about this, Sherlock.”

“What are you trying to feed her? The peas?” Sherlock asked, completely ignoring him. Rolling his eyes when Mary said yes he sighed and headed for the kitchen. “She doesn’t like the peas, I’ve told you this Mary. If you’re going to feed her something, the mashed carrots or bananas are a far better option.”

“Hey!”

“But her pediatrician wants her to have more green vegetables in her diet. I know she loves the banana, but it doesn’t have all the vitamins the peas do.”

“Are you two even listening to me?”

Sherlock snorted. “What does he want to start eating? Kale? No, we’ll start with the carrots, then-”

"Sherlock we need to talk about what you did to Molly!” John nearly shouted. At his raised voice, both Sherlock and Mary froze. Sherlock, clutching the little baby a bit tighter to him as Mary rounded upon him with a glare.

“Sherlock, what did you do to Molly?” she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest.

“You can’t hit me,” came the murmured reply. “I’m holding the baby. You can’t hit me if I’m holding the baby.”

“Why would I hit you?” she asked. There was no reply and she sighed heavily, looking to John. “What did he do?”

John sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Molly got a job offer from the Royal Infirmary up in Edinburgh.”

“Oh!” she gasped. Neither of them looked to Sherlock even though they were both well aware of how he was cradling the baby. “Is she going to then…?”

“It’s a big promotion,” John continued. “Huge actually. She’d be made Head of the Forensic Medicine section with five other doctors below her.”

Mary’s eyes widened. “That is a big promotion,” she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.

“But before she took it she wanted to talk to Sherlock first,” John said. The both of them still pointedly did not look at the consulting detective holding their baby like a shield. “She came into the lab today while Sherlock was running some samples and asked him, point blank, how he felt about her. If they could ever, you know.”

Mary winced and out of the corner of her eye she could see Sherlock look away. Pursing her lips, she slowly turned towards the taller man. “Sherlock, what did you say?” she asked, her voice soft.

He wouldn’t meet her eyes. “I told her how I felt.”

John let out an exasperated sigh, the anger returning to her voice. “Sherlock, you told her she was wallpaper to you.”

Gasping, pity sizzling up in a surge of righteous anger, Mary glared hotly at him. “You said what!?” Sherlock’s shoulders sank and he clung to the baby tighter as she continued her tirade. “Sherlock you can’t go around telling people that they’re wallpaper! Especially women! Especially Molly! Even you should be able to see how not good that is.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Sherlock muttered, biting his bottom lip.

“Then how did you mean it?” she demanded, hands on her hips. “Because I don’t think that there’s any way that telling a woman that she’s wallpaper to you could be good. Do you know how insulting that is? How cruel it is to say that she’s completely erased until she fades into the background? Have you even read _The Yellow Wallpaper_? No, no you probably haven’t. Luckily, I have a copy and you are going to read it and then apologize and-”

“I didn’t mean it like that!” he said again, voice rising slightly. At John and Mary’s disbelieving looks he sighed, turning his attention to the cooing infant in his arms. “I didn’t mean it like that at all. The last thing I would want to do to Molly is erase her, ignore her. I told Molly I thought of her like my wallpaper because…”

They gazed at him, waiting for him to continue then sighing when he did not. “Sherlock, mate, you have five seconds to tell us what you meant before I kick your bloody arse out the door-”

“She’s like wallpaper because no matter what I’m doing it’s like she surrounds me always,” Sherlock finally blurted out, looking up at them. “She’s always there, even when I don’t properly appreciate it, and whenever I look at her it feels like I’ve come home. That’s why she’s like wallpaper.” HIs gaze dropped again to Abigale who smile toothlessly and patted his face.

Mary threw her hands up in the air. “Then why didn’t you tell her that instead of calling her wallpaper!?”

He rolled his eyes. “I was going to elaborate, but Molly asked us to leave and so I peacefully left.”

“She called security and they dragged him out,” John corrected, glaring at his friend.

“Yes, she completely overreacted.”

“You called her wallpaper!”

“Not that it matters anymore,” Sherlock muttered, clutching Abigail closer. “By now Molly’s surely accepted their job offer and turned in her resignation. In two weeks, perhaps less, she’ll be in Scotland and what I think of her won’t matter anymore.”

“It matters if you love her.” Sherlock sputtered denials and Mary held up a hand, silencing him. “Sherlock, you just said that looking at her made you feel as if you’d come home. If that’s not love then what is?”

Sherlock’s brow furrowed as he held Abigail just a bit tighter. “It’s too late though. She kicked me out. She probably doesn’t want to see me ever again.”

“No, she probably doesn’t,” Mary agreed, taking the baby from him. “You need to see her again anyway. She needs to know how much she matters to you.”

Still frowning, Sherlock bit his bottom lip. “What if she refuses to see me?”

Sighing, Mary reached out and ever-so-gently touched Sherlock’s hand. “Then you’ll have to think about how it would feel if you lost her. If you knew you might not see her again.” He didn’t say anything to that, his gaze firmly staying on the floor. “That the last time she saw you the two of you had a row and that you never apologized. That she might go away angry and you’ll never have a chance to tell her how you really feel.”

He swallowed hard, finally meeting her soft eyes. “It would be… I would feel not good.”

“Then go and get her, tiger,” Mary said, beaming at him gently. Giving him a gentle shove towards the door she smiled and made Abigail wave as Sherlock headed towards it. “Oh, and Sherlock?”

He turned wearily back at her, eyebrow raised.

“If you call Molly wallpaper again I will bloody well shoot you.”

“Not if I can get my gun first,” John grumbled, glaring at his friend.

Rolling his eyes dramatically, Sherlock let himself out.

"Oh bloody hell!" Mary gasped as soon as the man was out the door.

"What?" John asked, looking to her. "What’s wrong."

Sighing and grumbling, Mary hoisted Abigail up in her arms. “I didn’t get him to feed her,” she sighed, glowering at the world in general. “Damn. Back to playing airplane for me then.”


	7. Savior Complex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> nuchamae prompted: Molly always protects Sherlock...but who will protect her.

She was beyond tears now. Beyond fear. Even beyond pain. Her hands and arms had gone numb over an hour ago and she couldn’t even feel the chill of the warehouse she was being held in anymore. Intellectually she knew that this was a bad thing, that in the wintery warehouse and devoid of her coat she was falling prey to exposure, but she was also beyond caring.

No one had come for her.

Her head bowed and she smiled softly. So that was her answer then. To the eternal question of whether she mattered to anyone. If anyone would even notice if she was gone. She’d always known what the answer was, but she’d never wanted to accept it. Never wanted to know that she really didn’t matter. To anyone.

The door to the warehouse creaked open, a blast of icy chill hitting her form before it was forced shut again. Her captor swore softly, shoving and shoving at the door until it finally closed enough before coming over to her. She looked up at him, smiling weakly at him and wondering if this was the end.

The man who’d taken her was just a kid. He was maybe seventeen with cheeks that still held baby fat and hands that trembled whenever he pointed the gun at her. She thought, hoped, that he didn’t really want to hurt her, but he was desperate. He had a brother destined for jail and Sherlock held the evidence that would put him there. All he wanted was the evidence so he could destroy it. So that his brother could walk free. The man might have been a drug dealer, but to his kid brother and their family he was the only father figure they’d ever had and their only means of financial support.

She felt bad for them. “Hi Mark,” she whispered as he got closer. The bag he carried towards her was large and bulky. She wondered if it held her death or perhaps he’d finally taken pity on her. “I don’t suppose there’s a blanket for me in there?”

“Yeah, I gots ya covered,” Mark muttered. Pushing a string of dirty long blond hair away from his face he dropped the bag at her feet and zipped it open. She nearly wept to see the contents. A blanket and a cracked and battered looking thermos. She could only hope it held hot tea. Not meeting her eyes, Mark wrapped the blanket around her shoulders.

Watching him carefully, Molly smiled and thanked him for the blanket. It was too thin and too short to do her any good she thought sadly, but it showed that he still cared for her. Still needed her. “Sherlock didn’t make it to the drop then?” she asked, forcing her voice to be cheerful.

Mark bit his lip but nodded. “He’ll come ta the next one. He has ta.”

“I told you that I don’t matter to him.”

“You gotta. Yer his friend, aren’t cha?”

She shook his head. “People like Sherlock don’t have friends like me,” she whispered, voice soft. Her traitorous mind replayed the times where Sherlock had told her otherwise. When she thought she could believe him when he had said that she mattered. It would figure that it had all been a lie.

Mark looked stricken and near tears as he stood before him. Snorting loudly, he rubbed at his nose with the back of his hand before going back to his bag. “I brought cha tea.”

“Why thank you,” she said, still smiling. Watching as he opened the container and slowly poured the amber liquid into a battered cup she bit her lip. “Mark? Could I please ask you a favor?”

“What?”

Taking a deep breath, she smiled at him as kindly as he could. “You’ve been so kind to me already, getting me this blanket and the tea and, well,” her voice trembled a little as she recalled her abduction on the street, “you’ve been trying so hard not to hurt me. B-but my arms have gone completely numb. If I don’t get blood circulating through them soon there could be permanent damage. Could you please unchain me?”

Pausing, Mark looked up at her. Biting his lip, he looked so young and nervous that she was afraid he might bolt. “Yer not gonna try to run away are you? Cause I gotta gun ya know.”

“Of course I won’t run,” she smiled. “You haven’t gotten the evidence you need to get your brother free after all. I can’t leave until you get that.”

He stared at her for another long moment before nodding. “Yeah, okay. I can unchain you. Just for a bit though!”

Trying to hide her eagerness she nodded and beamed at him. “Thank you Mark, you’re really too kind.”

Huffing and almost blushing a little, Mark walked behind her and fished the padlock key out of his pocket. Kneeling, he unlocked it before slowly unwrapping the chains he’d used to bind her arms behind her. She gasped, tears flooding her eyes as feeling rushed back into her limbs and her arms exploded into pins and needles. Hunching over, she pulled her hands to her chest and cradled them, sending up a mental prayer of thanks. They were too pale and her delicate skin had been torn to bleeding from the metal chains but she could move her fingers. Relief flooded her as she flexed her fingers, fisting and releasing them again and again.

“You, ah, want yer tea still?” Mark asked awkwardly from her side.

Looking up to him she nodded and smiled widely. “Yes please.”

He put the cup of tea in her still mostly numb hands. Struggling with it, she sipped at the barely warm tea slowly before beaming up at him. “Thank you Mark. This is lovely.”

Mark smiled at her weakly before going to sit a few feet away from her. Pulling out his mobile, he began to fuss with it, probably sending Sherlock another ransom demand. She watched him carefully, sipping at the tea. How would the next drop go? Would Sherlock even make an appearance? Or would he skip this one as he had the last one? How long would Mark be willing to go through the struggle of keeping her alive? It would be so easy to just let her die. Just leaving her trapped her overnight would surely do her in considering she had no way to stay warm.

“Would you mind if I stood up and walked around a bit?”

Mark’s head jerked up and he looked at her, suspicion clouding his features. “No.”

“Please Mark?” she asked, smiling at him. “My legs ache and I think a little exercise would do them good.”

He scowled. “No way. You’ll run.”

“No I won’t,” she assured him. Slowly she set the cup down and struggled to her feet. “I just want to-“ Giving out a little gasp, she fell to the floor.

Instantly, Mark was at her side, grabbing her elbow and helping her back to her feet. “Jesus, I told you that yer not-“

Grabbing his shoulder, she headbutted him in the nose. Mark dropped her, reeling back with a shocked look on his face as she went after him, grabbing the folding chair she’d been tied to. With a shout she struck him with it once, twice, three times until he fell. He was bleeding badly, eyes full of betrayal but she forced that from her mind and slammed the chair down on him again. As he groaned she pinned one of his wrists down with her foot and, fingers fumbling, pulled the gun out from his belt. He’d kept it there like an American gangster the entire time, safety off.

Seizing the gun she darted back, pointing it at him as she headed towards the door. “I’m leaving now Mark,” she said, eyes hard. “I’m sorry for hurting you, but it had to be done.”

Mark looked at her from the floor, tears in his eyes. “You-you can’t!” he shouted, reaching towards her. “I didn’t get it. The stuff for Eddie. I need it or he’s gonna go to jail!”

“I’m sorry, Mark,” she said and she meant it. Reaching the door she grabbed the handle and pulled, keeping her eyes and the gun on the teen. “He did bad things though, he deserves to go to jail.”

Tears dripped down Mark’s face as he sat up. He dashed them away, breathing heavily. “An what about me? Am I gonna go to jail too?”

“You kidnapped me,” she said. With a hard yank the door was open, the cold wet chill of a London winter hitting her hard. Looking over to Mark she frowned. He was so young and so desperate for his brother to come home. It could have been just the beginning of Stockholm syndrome, but she felt bad for him. So bad. “Get out of here,” she whispered. “After I leave you run and go back home. I’ll get rid of the gun and tell them I never saw my attacker, okay? You just keep your head down and clean up your act. If your brother’s going to jail it’s going to be up to you to protect your family from now on, got that? Just don’t follow his path. Get a proper job and take good care of them.”

Mark stared at her, tears streaming down his face. “I…”

She didn’t wait for him to reply. Clutching the gun she turned and ran, eyes wide.

Running between the large brick buildings, Molly felt her heart soar as she headed for safety. She’d done it. Saved herself. No matter what happened next she had gotten herself free and was going to make it. She was going to live.

Luckily Mark had taken her to a building near the river and she pitched the gun into the Thames. Throwing it as hard as she could she watched it splash into the cold water before taking a deep breath. Nodding to herself she turned, wrapped her arms around herself and started on her long trek towards safety.

That was easier said than done. Besides the river next to her as a rough guide she had no idea where she was. She wasn’t even sure what side of the Thames she was on, though reason told her it was probably south. Picking a direction (it was too cloudly to tell which way was way) she began to walk. The chill streamed through her work clothing and she desperately wished for her coat or even the blanket that Mark had brought her. She’d forgotten it back in the warehouse though. Stupid.

So caught up in her thoughts she didn’t recognize the sound of pounding footsteps until they were nearly upon her. Panicking – had Mark decided to recapture her? – she looked around for a place to hide, but it was too late. Like a deer in headlights she froze as could only watch as two running figures rounded the corner of a building and saw her.

They both faltered and her eyes went wide as she took in the familiar forms. “Molly!” John shouted, running towards her again.

She grinned in relief at the sight of them, hurrying towards John as he ran for her. “John! Sherlock! I’m alright, I got free, I-“

Sherlock pushed past John, racing for her and seizing her in his arms. Engulfing her in warmth, he pulled her tight to his chest and buried his face in her hair. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she heard him whisper, his voice shaky. “I was in my Mind Palace and never heard my mobile chime. This should never have happened. I should have been there for you, should have saved you, should have gotten you out sooner, Molly, Molly, my Molly-“

Slowly, gently, Molly wrapped her arms around Sherlock and sighed. Biting her lip she allowed her eyes to drift shut, enjoying Sherlock’s warmth and the way he clung to her. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “I’m okay, Sherlock.”

"But I should have been there!” he hissed, loathing in his voice. “You’ve saved me so many times, I should have been there to save you!”

Smiling up at him, she reached up and cupped his face. Pushing herself up to her tip-toes she pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. “It’s okay, Sherlock. Everything’s okay. I managed to save myself and that’s perfectly all right.”

Wordlessly, Sherlock stared down at her for a long moment. Moisture seemed to be lurking in the corner of his eyes as he pulled her tight again and just held her. She let him too. Let him hold her as tightly as he wished until the cop cars and ambulance arrived and he had to be dragged away from her, his eyes never letting her out of his sight, as she gave her statement and her arms were bandaged.

After they were done with her Sherlock appeared back at her side. Dropping his Belstaff around her shoulders, he took her hand firmly in his. “Come along then, Molly. I’ll escort you home,” he said, tone allowing no argument.

She smiled up at him and nodded softly. Maybe she did count.


End file.
